


Who are you, anyway?

by somethinginbetween



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Sadness, Suicide Attempt, srry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinginbetween/pseuds/somethinginbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you say to a person who had also come to die?<br/>or<br/>the one where John and Sherlock never met or got a flat together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who are you, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I find that all the stuff I post on here is depressing as fuck. Anyway...

Sherlock took another drag of his cigarette. He was tired, simple as that. His life had been despairingly short and yet most of it had been quite shitty. He looked down at the black water 75.32 meters below. London bridge. Quite funny actually. This was the second used bridge for suicide. He would soon become a statistic. Of course he could have chosen to do something with more flare or with at least more comfort. Overdose of sleeping pills would probably be the most convenient. But jumping off a bridge meant that there would be adrenaline. One last high before splat. And of course it doesn’t matter how you kill yourself when you’re dead, does it? It was time. Extinguishing his cigarette, he turned and gave the security camera a mock salute. Mycroft could watch him die. Spinning so his back faced the water he tipped his head up to the sky to watch the moon when he fell. It was the easiest way to fall, one with no chance of surviving. Shoulders hit the water at a 120 km/h effectively snapping the spinal cord. He tilted back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, coat flapping in the wind, skin silvery in the moonlight, and at last, he felt at peace. He began to fall.

That was, until a rough hand grabbed his chest with a “What in the hell are you doing,” and dragged him from the ledge. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. Before him stood a 5’6” man who was glaring at him with all the force he could possibly muster.  
“I believe the answer to your question is fairly obvious.”  
The man blinked.  
Ugh. Another stupid one.  
“But I have an question for you as well-- one not so foolishly evident as the one you had asked me in the first place. Why are you up here? Your limp suggests that you are not here on a joy walk. It’s possible you couldn’t sleep; you went outside to burn off energy so you could sleep. Good story, seems correct, but the depth and amount of the bruises under your eyes suggest that you haven’t been able to sleep for a while. This is a nightly occurrence, one that you don’t always go outside for a walk to fix it. Of course, you might walk a different path every night, but why would you feel the need to walk alongside the river tonight? It is far away from any houses, or any living conditions that you could afford to live in, seeing as you are a very poor mundane individual. So, you must have made a special trip up here. In conclusion, I’m not the only one about to take their own life tonight.”  
The man just stared at him. Sherlock waited for him to leave. Or slap him or something. And then the man did something no other had done before.  
He laughed.  
Bent over, clutching his stomach, laughing.  
Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. Why was he laughing?Maybe he had truly lost it.  
The man finally stopped laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes he looked up at Sherlock, “Fantastic.”  
“Excuse me?” Sherlock didn’t believe he heard the man correctly.  
“I said.. fantastic.”  
Sherlock stared at him. “That’s not what most people say.”  
“What do most people say?”  
“Piss off.”  
The man laughed again and Sherlock didn’t know what to do again. When the man had finished he looked up at him again.  
“So what’s the name of you?”  
“My name?”  
“Well, I don’t have masterful deductions like yours and haven’t the slightest who you are.”  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
“John Watson.”  
An awkward silence passed. What do you say to a person who had also come to die? Sherlock wasn’t going to change his plans for one person.  
“So, you’d best be off.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I said you’d best be going.”  
“I’m not going to leave because of you..”  
“Well I’m not going to leave for you either!”  
“Then it seems that we’re at a stalemate.”  
Sherlock offered John a cigarette.  
“Is that a bribe?”  
“Could be.”  
John took the cigarette and lit it. They smoked in silence. Distantly Sherlock heard the sound of sirens.  
“Oh bugger.”  
“What?”  
“Someone wants me off this bridge. Well then, come on.”  
“What’s happening, what do you mean?”  
“No time, run!”  
So they ran.

**Author's Note:**

> The sirens are Mycroft, just fyi.


End file.
